


Playing Doctor

by AllTheFeels



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: ?? kinda ??, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, GSW, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8571217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheFeels/pseuds/AllTheFeels
Summary: "You were shot in the chest, Illya, you need to go to medical, or even just let me look at it. The wound is too close to your heart for you to--- to fuck around and play Doctor with any more."	Illya brings his head up just enough to scowl at his partner, "So I should let you play Doctor instead?"	Napoleon shrugs, the corners of his mouth twitching as he smirks, "I've definitely played Doctor more than you have."	Illya's eyes narrow, "If I wasn't about to throw up, I would strangle you."





	

Bullet wounds are a bitch.

They heal slow, and most of the damage is typically done while getting the bullet out--- the entrance is smooth enough, tearing straight through skin until the bullet buries itself somewhere, typically cradling itself in the muscles. Taking it out? It's a rough, risky business even when it's done properly.

"Do you know how many GSW's I've had, Peril?"

Illya grits his jaw, desperately trying to ignore---

"Six."

He closes his eyes. No matter how close he gets to the American, the part of him that relies on his training is almost always tempted to just reach out and clamp his mouth shut.

"I've seen plenty of them, so I think I'm basically an expert at this point---"

"You are definitely not an expert," Illya mumbles, gingerly crossing his arms and wincing when he moves them too quickly, "I am not a child. I can handle my own injuries."

"Clearly you can't," Napoleon snaps, making a vague "look at yourself" gesture with his hand, "You've been getting sick, probably because you've used some insane Russian homeopathic medicine that just doesn't work, and if you let this get bad enough, you'll be pulled from field work."

"I used sterile tweezers to remove the bullet, clean scissors to cut away torn skin, and I even played it your way and used peroxide instead of whiskey to clean it when I was finished," Illya deadpans, "I am fine. My body just reacts badly to major trauma. This is normal."

"I---" Napoleon's lips tighten, and the retort he was clearly about to make seems to get stuck in his throat as concern flickers across his face for a second before it morphs into confusion verging on disturbance, "You are a spy, Illya. You kind of need to be able to handle major trauma."

"I can, my body cannot," The blonde says, adjusting his sweater, "There is a difference."

"No- there's...there's really not, though," Napoleon can't help it, he strides towards the other man, frustration making his usually light steps fall harder on the tile, "You are not a machine. You know that, right?"

"Of course I know that."

-

"So, hey, remember when I said that you should really let me have a look at that bullet wound? And reminded you that you're actually made of flesh and blood? And, you know, acted as your voice of reason?"

"I hate you," Illya groans, pressing his forehead even further into the toilet bowl, his stomach tossing violently, "Infection is normal."

Above him, Napoleon rolls his eyes. He's never quite figured out why Illya is so stubborn about his seemingly infinite knowledge of healthcare (it's probably a Russian thing), but despite the blonde's reassurances, his fears aren't quelled in the slightest.

"You were shot in the chest, Illya, you need to go to medical, or even just let me look at it. The wound is too close to your heart for you to--- to fuck around and play Doctor with any more."

Illya brings his head up just enough to scowl at his partner, "So I should let you play Doctor instead?"

Napoleon shrugs, the corners of his mouth twitching as he smirks, "I've definitely played Doctor more than you have."

Illya's eyes narrow, "If I wasn't about to throw up, I would strangle you."

-

"I need your help."

Napoleon doesn't even look up, he just turns a page in his book and says, ever so arrogantly, "So you've come to your senses, then?"

Faintly, he hears a noise like a little choked laugh, and looks up to---

"Jesus Christ, Peril, put a shirt on!"

Illya sighs, crossing his arms over his bare chest and blinking slowly at the brunette. He doesn't need a shirt for this, and frankly, it's nearing midnight. If he sleeps in his office, as per usual, he'll wake up drenched in sweat anyways, whether it be from nightmares or the infection, it's no use to ruin a perfectly good shirt.

"I've seen much worse in this room, Napoleon," He chides, clicking his tongue flat against his teeth before continuing, "The infection seems to be subsiding, but there are...new symptoms, and...Gaby will not assist me."

Napoleon looks, really looks, at Illya then, his brow furrowing as he takes in the sight of his partner. He's been paler than usual lately, thanks to the infection, with heavy bags around his eyes and little bursts of red near his corneas like fireworks, but nothing looks new. What the hell kind of symptom---

"Just trust me."

Illya's face is too drawn, too solemn for Napoleon to protest, so he swings his legs off of his desk and strides across the carpet until he's close enough to see every eerie detail of the wound. It's no larger than an inch wide, a shape more similar to a diamond than a circle, with horrific pieces of undisturbed flesh jutting up around it. His eyes wander a bit upwards, towards Illya's clavicle, and by the spiderweb of scarring just beneath his collarbone, Napoleon realizes that this certainly isn't Illya's first rodeo. He takes a second, shamelessly, to stare.

Sure, part of him is just marveling at how well built Illya is-- he's boxy, yet not bulky, with smooth muscles gently visible over his entire torso. He has the body of a gymnast more than the body of a spy, really. Or perhaps it's the body of a statue, something so pure and beautiful that it could only have been carved out of stone. The biggest difference, though, is that he isn't pure. There's scars marring Illya's entire body, from the long violet snake that slithers down his shoulder to the latest addition, the partially healed diamond resting over his heart.

"You look...like someone with an infected GSW," Napoleon mumbles, letting his eyes rake over his partner's body once more, "What's new?"

Illya doesn't respond, just reaches out and pulls the other man close, nearly crushingly so, and takes a deep breath. That's when Napoleon hears it.  
  
When Illya breathes, his entire chest seems to rattle. After the breath, Illya shakes for a moment, but...it's only his chest and hands. He shakes like someone turned him into a human blender and put him on high, like...

"Wait," Napoleon mumbles, pulling back just far enough to look into Illya's eyes, unblinking, "That mission...New Mexico. Druglords. They're cheap as hell, Illya, there's no way they were using quality bullets, I think the reason you might be reacting so badly is because that bullet was probably lead. I think...actually, I'm pretty sure you have lead poisoning. "

"Lead poisoning is developed over months," Illya rolls his eyes, "Not weeks."

"Well, most people don't take a lead bullet to the chest," Napoleon's hands twitch, "I'm going to do something, please do not punch me."

Before Illya can protest, Napoleon's lips are pressing against his, more gently than he's ever seen him kiss a female target, in a way so chaste and slow that it's almost unlike him. Illya's hands wind their way into his partner's hair, ruining the style that certainly took far too long to perfect. After another second, Napoleon pulls back, saying in a voice too small for anyone but Illya to hear,

"Go to medical. I'm--- I'm scared for you."

-

A week later, Illya slams a delicately made pill bottle onto Napoleon's desk, his hands slipping away to reveal the label.

Chemet.

Napoleon grins, "I'm the best doctor you've ever had."

**Author's Note:**

> yah yah I'm p much in Illya's position rn and I wanted to complain :'D
> 
> Also, my apologies if anyone is OOC or if there's any errors, this fic is most definitely unbeta-d. Sue me.
> 
> Let me know what you thought tho, I haven't written tmfu things in ages ^-^


End file.
